I would wake up on the cold mornings
To my moms fingers in my hair.
Three parts, tied up, braided
Now I get up to get prepared
To face the morning, the frost on all the windows.
I sit down in the kitchen.
My mother sits beside
Into my palm she places
Half of a small, grey green leaf.
I break it like she taught me
And she does the same.
Crushed between our fingers
The small does now exclaim
A smell that momma always says will be what heaven smells of
A smell that someone can't describe,
After all it is a part of nature itself-
As each of us is-
And so only comparisons suffice,
A smell of earth and home and hurt and love.
I watch momma smell her damaged leaf
She looks sadly out the window.
I know she often feels quite hurt
and the sage helps her know so.
The smell helps her remember
Not everything is good or bad
Some you just must remember.
